


Lara Jean Makes Love

by Little Red Writing Hoot (AGirlwith17Words)



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before (Movies), To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Social Experiments, They Never Fake-Dated In High School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlwith17Words/pseuds/Little%20Red%20Writing%20Hoot
Summary: "Lara Jean," Peter replies gently, "Don't take this personally, but I just got out of a long-term, long-distance relationship that seriously fucked me up big time. The last thing I'm interested in right now is getting my heart or any of my other bits-"Lara Jean squirms visibly."-emotionally invested in a girl. Like, I'm through with that shit for a while. I'm a monk now. If you want a guy's perspective without the emotional fuckery, I'm here for it. I'm your man."Lara Jean has a Master's thesis to concoct. Ever the practical romantic, she decides to research human intimacy - what its strongest triggers are, and whether you can fake it until you make it.Now if only she can try out some of her ideas with three male volunteers...
Relationships: John Ambrose McClaren/Lara Jean Song-Covey, Josh Sanderson/Lara Jean Song-Covey, Peter Kavinsky/Lara Jean Song-Covey
Comments: 98
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/189595804@N06/50192401926/in/dateposted-public/)

Joshua Sanderson is a simple man. But when he is presented with a humble brown paper bag of white chocolate cranberry cookies, he feels all kinds of complicated. 

Maybe it’s the way the sweet mingles with the tart. Or how it’s crispy 'round the edges but soft and chewy in the center. Maybe it’s how the bag still feels warm because they’re fresh from the oven, or how every bite tastes like Christmas.

And when Lara Jean adds her special Special… when she remembers to mix in orange zest in that buttery dough just the way he likes it... well, a simple man like Josh Sanderson can’t help but feel all kinds of complicated then. 

Lara Jean Song Covey is chewing absently on a stick of baby carrot, her long almond eyes thoughtful as she stares at a point past his shoulder. She’s so artless sometimes, so _transparent_ , it’s almost impossible to believe she’s related to Margot. Out here in the summer sun, her jet-black hair tied high in a swinging ponytail, her yellow halter neck sundress riding up her tanned, crossed legs, Josh Sanderson wonders — for the umpteenth time today — what life might have been like had he picked the middle Song girl instead, all those years ago. 

“What are you thinking about?” he finally asks, glancing at the time on his phone. He’d worked through all his lunch breaks last week for the extra time today, not that she’d ever notice. 

“My Master’s thesis,” she explains between crunchy chews. “I think I know where I want to go with it, but I’m stuck on the approach for the fieldwork.”

Josh hides a small, proud smile. It doesn’t surprise him at all that she’s months ahead of everyone else on her thesis. 

“Can I help?” he asks nonchalantly. Can he help. He’d move mountains, small fictitious planets and even Time Itself for Lara Jean if he could, but it’s best not to scare the childhood friend one now secretly pines for. “What’s it about?” he probes instead, clearing his throat.

“Well…” she starts, turning fully to face him now. “First, you have to promise me not to laugh.”

“I won’t laugh,” promises Josh solemnly.

“Okay — but really, don’t laugh! I’m already dreading telling Margot about this, and I can totally hear her listing me all the reasons this is a silly idea — but she only has herself to blame, you know. She’s the one who’s always telling me how I’m in love with the idea of love…”

“Okay,” Josh is grinning now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about — slow down.”

“My research,” Lara Jean explains carefully, “is about intimacy. Not, you know, not _sex_ ,” she adds quickly, shaking her head vehemently so her ponytail swishes behind her back. “I’m talking about the whole process of establishing a feeling of… of _closeness_ between two people. I want to study and compare the effects of three approaches. But before I actually start my testing on total strangers, I need to work out the order of the tasks and give this a bit of a test drive, I think. I don’t know — I’ve never really done anything like this before. It’s doing my head in a bit.”

Josh is nodding along, his heart suddenly pounding as a thought comes to him. 

“Testing’s also a big part of web development,” he points out gently. “Yeah, like we do it all the time at work. And it’s always best practice to conduct some user testing before you release the product into the market, so to speak. You want to iron out the issues — especially the sorts you don’t even think about that just happens, you know, because humans aren’t always predictable. I think it’s a good idea, Lara Jean.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! And I’d be glad to help. Like, I’ve done testing before. I could totally help you with this.”

And to see that look on her face. Lara Jean looks so happy and relieved… and maybe a little shocked.

“Are you sure? I mean… some of the tasks…” She takes a long, slightly shuddery breath and lets it out slow. “I’ve included some pretty intense questions, you know.”

“So? We’ve known each other ages. You probably already know all the answers to mine.”

“Okay… but then there’s some… there’s some… _kissing._ ”

Josh’s heart skitters a little.

“So?” he manages to shrug. He dives his hand into the paper bag and retrieves a cookie, taking a huge fortifying bite and hoping to God it all comes off looking casual. 

“We’ll be fine,” he assures her between bites even as his stomach flutters at the thought of her pressing her hands on his chest and… “I mean, we both know it’s a test, it’s not real… I’m a professional now,” he adds with a self-deprecating smile. “And anyway — who would you rather test drive this on? Some strange jock you don’t know, or someone you trust who’s also going to give you the kind of feedback you need to get this thesis on the road?”

“Well…” Lara Jean replies slowly, “when you put it like that…”

“It’ll be fine,” he assures her again, his gaze steady, his treacherous heart racing.

~ ♡♥♡ ~

_Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap._

That wasn’t at all what Lara Jean had expected when she’d been thinking out loud about her thesis. But then Josh had seemed so keen to help out all of a sudden, his green eyes lighting up as soon as she’d mumbled about testing. The moment she’d said it, it was like all his nerdy instincts had come alive and then he’d started going on about ‘scenario testing’ and ‘best practice’. And seriously now — what was a good friend supposed to do with all that enthusiasm? 

Nothing, except to graciously smile and thank him. And then arrange a first real-but-dummy sesh on Monday. 

And it should be fine like he said, except this is _Josh Sanderson._ The boy next door who also happens to be the ex-boyfriend of her older sister. The boy for whom she once harboured such angsty forbidden love right up to the moment when Kitty revenge-mailed her letters way back in high school, and he’d read the gushy, possessive one she’d secretly written him.

So yes — Lara Jean would definitely _not_ start with the kissing exercise, she sighed. Or the question round, really. Josh was right — she probably does know him well enough to anticipate many of his answers, and therein lies the other problem: this is supposed to be an observational study of total strangers and how they can generate genuine intimacy from scratch. How can she even test-drive this thing with Josh Sanderson, of all people, when he’s been an honorary member of the Covey Household for over a decade? 

_It’d be like kissing a brother,_ she winces.

And yet… 

There’s something to be said about their shared immunity as well. She and Josh, they’re in such a good place now. He’s her first and only genuinely platonic friend, really — if she doesn’t count Lucas. Then again, Lucas is gay while she and Josh had earned these stripes. In fact, they’re so good now precisely because they’d long moved past the crazy hump that all platonic friendships must overcome: the dodgy bit in the middle, where one or both parties fancies the other. 

Lara Jean had already been bitten by this particular love bug and so now she is fully inoculated against him. If she had to kiss and stare at any guy, in the interest of research, then surely Josh Sanderson would be the safest bet of all?

But how is she going to explain any of this to Margot? 

_And it’d be like kissing a brother,_ she reminds herself again, shuddering.

The Walter Royal Davis Library is, by far, the biggest library in UNC Chapel Hill and Lara Jean still can’t believe she works here. They say you should always dress for the job you want and so it’s all Chris’s fault, really. After getting endlessly needled by Chris for dressing like ‘Lolita Went to Library School’, Lara Jean had finally plucked the courage one day to apply for a casual librarian position and _voilà_ — now she’s both dressed and working as one. And it really is _the_ perfect job: great pay, delicious access to journals and books, and — bestest of all — enforced introversion and contemplation. 

It’s the last that finally calms the clamour in Lara Jean’s head to a low murmur as she loads the book trolley from the back and starts to make her way up to the seventh floor. She’d tell Josh, she’s finally decided. She’d let him down gently and point out that she needs to test this out with someone she doesn’t know this well. There needs to be an element of the unknown, she’ll explain. It’s important even if she isn’t technically observing her own reaction. She’ll find someone else, she’ll assure him. Although who on earth that _someone else_ could possibly be remains the other unsolved headache… 

“Covey?”

At her name, Lara Jean jolts to a halt before doubling back slowly with her trolley. There’s a tall figure between the library stacks around the PN4000s and it takes her a stunned second before her mouth thinks to move.

“Peter Kavinsky?”

Peter Grant Kavinsky grins in reply, the effect as transformative as always. Instantly, the quirk of his mouth seems to light a sparkle of mischief in his eyes and Lara Jean blinks before she recovers and scowls a little at herself. The trademark curly, floppy hair that used to send countless Adler High hearts aflutter seems to have been shorn short recently but is now growing back, though not quickly enough to hide the crescent scar just off-centre on his hairline. It matches the other deep scar near his mouth and on anyone else, such facial marks might have marred the effect of all this Hollywood-Handsome. On Peter Kavinsky, however, they only give him a whiff of mystery hinting at some latent bad-boy hotness. And he knows it, too. She’s sure of it. 

It’s annoyingly unfair, thinks Lara Jean, when the childhood friend you once played catch with suddenly outstrips your dinky little middle school treehouse gang and becomes the elusive high school poster boy you hardly know.

 _Which makes him perfect,_ she suddenly thinks.

“What are you doing in UNC?” she blurts out right when he says, “I totally forgot you study here!” There’s an awkward moment when they move a little closer as if to hug, but then stop short as if to think better of it. 

“You first, Lara Jean.” 

“Well, I work here,” she explains, waving vaguely at the trolley before her. “And when I’m not, I’m grinding away at grad school. Social psychology.”

Peter gives a low whistle. “You going all the way, Covey?”

“Maybe,” she murmurs a little coyly, “we’ll see how this year goes.” She looks at him curiously now. “What about you, though. Last I heard, you were on a sports scholarship at UVA.”

A shadow seems to cross over Peter’s face but the moment is so fleeting, Lara Jean can’t be sure. 

“I was,” he shrugs. “But that’s done and I’m trying new things. I’m at Hussman now. Sports journalism.” He waves at the library stacks around him and she suddenly gets why he’s on the seventh floor.

“Wow! I mean… yeah, that makes sense, actually,” Lara Jean replies distractedly, the cogs in her head still turning. “So — you’re studying here?” 

“Guilty.” 

“And Genevieve is…”

“Working in Virginia, I think. I don’t know. We don’t talk anymore.”

Lara Jean just nods. She hears things, from time to time. Usually about six months after the fact. Usually when Chris decides to pop in unannounced for a visit. After seven years, people no longer hold their breaths whenever they hear that Peter and Gen have split up. Because invariably, they always find their way back together again.

 _Like a dog to vomit,_ Chris pronounced the last time. Which is the only vaguely biblical reference Lara Jean’s ever heard Chris make.

“Hey,” Peter adds suddenly, his eyebrows almost meeting in the centre as he frowns. “Can I… can you, like, not tell anyone we know that I’m here? I’m kinda keeping a low profile here.” 

Lara Jean actually laughs. “I really don’t get out much, Kavinsky. But sure, if it makes you feel any better, your secret is safe with me.”

“Good,” he smiles brightly, the crease between his brows disappearing instantly. “Thanks, Covey. I mean it. I owe you one.”

 _It’s now or never,_ Lara Jean thinks. 

“Well, in that case…” She takes a little step closer to him, her gaze clinical as if she were sizing him up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Kavinsky, but I’m looking for a male guinea pig and I think you’ll do.”

~ ♡♥♡ ~

It sounds too much like a bad reality TV show or like he’s been set up to get punked, but Peter Kavinsky can tell that Lara Jean — as always — is dead serious about her schoolwork.

“So, you basically want to try these exercises out on me…”

“That’s right.”

“... and get my feedback on the process so you can refine the research design before you try this out on real people.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you want me to try these exercises out. With you.”

“Affirmative.”

Peter twists his head so it cricks, his eyes never leaving Lara Jean’s face. She stares back at him impassively like she’s just talking about the library or Dutch clogs or something, and not instead about getting deep and meaningful in a laboratory setting so she can run off with her intel and complete her Master’s thesis.

“I don’t know…”

“Look,” she replies patiently. “I understand it’s not natural or easy for guys like you to build intimacy—”

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ ” Peter scoffs. “Stop while you’re ahead, LJ! I happen to be _very good_ at intimacy!”

“I’m not talking about sex!” Lara Jean replies, sounding a smidge exasperated. “Intimacy is about connection. About feeling close to someone without even needing to touch them. Although I feel I should warn you — there’s some long staring involved.”

“I stare fine. I’m cool with staring.”

“And um… okay, one of the exercises involves a kiss.”

“Ah _hah!_ ” Peter punches the air in triumph and it’s just as well that they’re out in the open now under a large elm tree at a picnic table and not doing this in the library. He points right at her face now. “So there _is_ some physical stuff involved.”

“I’m comparing the effects of different approaches,” she replies stiffly. “But there’s nothing… raunchy… about any of the exercises. I’m interested in the emotional connection between strangers.”

“I don’t know…” he says again, his arms folded at his waist as he leans forward and rocks a little. Lara Jean is still sitting across from him, her face a picture of quiet, professional distance, her long ponytail swept over her left shoulder. There’s a faint white outline of flowers all over her short yellow cotton dress, and her shoulders are smooth, slight, and a little tanned. She should wear more halter tops, Peter thinks. They really suit her figure quite well. It’s also obvious that she has to wear a strapless bra with that dress, and _that’s_ always fun to think about…

Peter grimaces. Lara Jean’s bra straps are absolutely the last thing he needs to be thinking about right now. And yet, if he’s going to have to kiss the girl…

“What’s in it for me?” he asks finally. 

“Well… this isn’t funded research, so I can’t pay you. Not unless I pick up a grant for this later on. And I might, if this goes well.”

“Nah…” he shakes his head. “Well, yeah — maybe later. Some spending money’s always nice. But we’re talking about now. How about my name in the credits?”

“This is going to be sole-author,” Lara Jean replies sharply.

“Whoa, okay! Touched a nerve there. Alright. Geez, Covey! I just wanted the kick out of seeing my name in some acknowledgement section, that’s all. ‘Special thanks to P Kavinsky for correcting my way harsh prejudices on males and intimacy.’”

“Well, yes. I can do that.” She frowns a little now. “But you’re right — you’ll be giving me some of your time, and time does have value. How about… library privileges.”

Hmm. Interesting.

“Go on…”

“I’m classed as staff — but library staff. So I get totally different borrowing rights, the same as what faculty get.”

Peter Kavinsky leans in. “Go on.”

Lara Jean takes a deep breath. “Undergrads get thirty days, right? Grad students get ninety. Librarians and faculty,” she twists her mouth slyly, “get a hundred and eighty. And twice the item limit.”

“Holy fuck!” Peter blurts out. “No shit, that’s awesome!”

“So are you fine with that as a form of payment?”

“That’s, no, that’s pretty sweet actually. Thanks, Covey.”

“So does that mean you’ll be my guinea pig?” Lara Jean is frowning again, and Peter senses another niggle or worry.

“What’s the matter, Lara Jean?”

She shakes her head, but he doesn’t buy it. “Come on, just spit it out.” He reaches over and nudges her hand. “You’re gonna have to get used to telling people the terms of this mad social experiment of yours, you know. If you’re gonna get shy and squeamish now with just me, it’s gonna be a hundred times worse with people you don’t know at all.”

She shakes her head now as if in wonder. “You’re right, of course.” He tries not to grimace at how surprised she sounds. But he waits as she takes another deep breath and steadies herself before she tells him what’s going on in that head of hers.

“There is a chance… and only a small chance… and look, I’m not saying at all that I think I’m so attractive that you can’t help but fall in love with me or something. Oh god, did I just say that? I did, didn’t I. Okay, let me try again.”

She gives a little shake and takes another big, deep breath. Peter Kavinsky tries not to smile.

“There is a chance,” she starts over more slowly, “that one or both of us might find ourselves emotionally... invested in the course of these exercises. That’s not the aim of this study, but I just want to put this out there. There is a risk. I want you to understand this risk.”

“Lara Jean,” Peter replies gently, “Don’t take this personally at all, but I just got out of a long-term, long-distance relationship that seriously fucked me up big time. The _last_ thing I’m interested in right now is getting my heart or any of my other bits—” Lara Jean squirms visibly. “—emotionally invested in a girl. Like, I’m through with that shit for a while. I’m a monk now. If you want a guy’s perspective without the emotional fuckery, I’m here for it. I’m your man.”

“Okay then,” Lara Jean exhales quietly. But Peter isn’t done.

“And what about _you,_ Lara Jean.”

“What about me.”

“You gonna get mushy on me?”

Lara Jean rolls her eyes hard. “No.”

“You sure you can resist this?” Peter gestures to himself, sweeping his hands down from his head to his feet.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe this, but I’m quite immune to your charms, Peter Kavinsky.”

Peter Kavinsky stares at Lara Jean solemnly.

“That, I can believe.”

When she extends her arm across the table, he takes her hand and they shake on it firmly. Her hand is tiny in his, but boy does he feel every bit of her resolve.

“Meet me at this room on Friday,” she commands him, tearing half a page out of her organizer. She’s written the block and room number and underneath it, the number for her phone.

“Two o’clock okay with you?” she checks and when he nods, she stands and climbs out of the picnic table.

“See you in two days, Kavinsky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the fic I'd been toying with in my head for a while. It's all specced out and plotted and planned... and now all I have to do is actually write the thing. 
> 
> I know I wrote like a demon the last time and produced some 13 chapters in 3 weeks. I'm here to manage expectations and say that I can't write and publish that fast anymore, as Real Life has started to pick up the pace again. Also, this not-sleeping is really starting to bite.
> 
> With all that said and done... I hope you enjoyed this brand new start, at least. 😊


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a good thing that Lucas James Krapf doesn’t have a sweet tooth in his head or he might never fit in any of his clothes — and he likes his clothes. But he likes Lara Jean better, which is why they make the best flatmates. She bakes. He doesn’t eat. It’s perfect.

It’s also past midnight.

“Is there a fundraiser?” he asks cautiously as he eases himself on the nearest barstool. The kitchen is a mess but he’s long learnt to let that kind of thing go. Lara Jean’s bedroom could give him a minor heart attack, but she’s great at keeping shared spaces tidy and besides, he thinks while he side-eyes the cooling tray of snickerdoodles, something’s up with her.

“Nope,” she replies airily as she chops up symmetrical pieces of white chocolate and raspberry blondies. He waits patiently for a while, sipping slowly on his glass of filtered water until she cracks all on her own. She usually does around the three-minute mark when she’s been stewing. 

“Okay,” she announces like he’s bent her arm. “Alright… okay. You know my thesis?”

 _Whether strangers can feel a little kissy after a round of twenty questions?_ “Yeah?” Lucas replies neutrally.

“So… I may have accidentally recruited Josh. To be my pre-test tester.”

Lucas blinks but he continues to wait, faint alarm bells going off in his head. 

“And then… I don’t know. Maybe I got hit by buyer’s remorse or something, but after that I recruited someone else. And now I don’t know what to tell Josh. Or this other guy.”

“Wait,” Lucas shakes his head. “Let’s start from the top. A pre-test test?”

“It’s just for me to practice facilitating the experiment — what do I say to my test subjects, how do I explain what I’m trying to do without giving the game away, but also without confusing them. But it’s also the structure of the test — like how long do I need for questions, even the order of the tasks. That sort of thing.”

“So a rehearsal.”

“Exactly.”

“But isn’t this experiment about intimacy between strangers? So how come you’re using Josh?”

Lara Jean nods vigorously as she points her silicone spatula right in her flatmate’s face. “Hence my buyer’s remorse! Which is why I ended up recruiting Peter Kavinsky instead. OH SHOOT!” 

She winces as soon as his name falls out her mouth, just as Lucas James raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Did you say Peter Kavinsky?”

“I promised him!” she moans, her mortification muffled through the hand cupped over her mouth. “Oh crap, I’m a _terrible_ secret-keeper! It hasn’t even been a whole day!” She starts to shake her head. “You can’t tell anyone. He’s trying to keep a low profile.”

Lucas laughs. “Peter Kavinsky couldn’t keep a low profile even if you hid him in a bunker, Lara Jean. It’d be like trying to hide a man-unicorn. Sooner or later, all that glitter’s gonna leak out and someone’s gonna talk.”

“Like me,” Lara Jean sighs but Lucas isn’t done with her yet.

“How did you end up recruiting Kavinsky?” he asks, perplexed. “I’m guessing he’s in Chapel Hill somehow?”

“I can’t say much more about his... thing... but, yeah. I ran into Peter and it was straight after Josh asked to be my test subject—”

“Wait. Josh volunteered himself?”

“Yup — he’s got experience with testing at work, apparently. He got really excited when I told him about my thesis.”

Lucas arches an eyebrow but wisely says nothing. 

“Anyway, I was worrying about using Josh as my guinea pig because of the whole not-a-stranger thing. But then Peter and I were talking and then suddenly it hit me that I sort of know him, but I don’t _really_ know him anymore. I mean, I know _of_ him and we used to hang out when we were kids… but he practically qualifies as a stranger now and yet I have enough history with him to trust he’ll give me the honest feedback I need. I don’t know…” Lara Jean ends a little lamely. “It just happened really fast.”

“And Peter’s agreed to be your love-test monkey?”

“Yeah… I bribed him with library favours.”

And even Lucas Krapf has to huff in disbelief. But Lara Jean is dead serious. 

“They’re really good staff benefits!”

“I’m not knocking your library benefits,” he assures his friend with some affection. He can’t help it. The girl is hilarious, whether she means to be or not. And smart. And funny. And generous in spirit. And a helluva baker and friend.

So he relents a little. “Now that you got Kavinsky,” he points out, “does that mean you’re letting Josh go?”

Lara Jean flushes. “I don’t know,” she confesses sheepishly.

“What about the whole not-a-stranger thing!”

“I knoooow!” she wails in return. “But I really trust Josh and besides — you should have seen him, Lucas. It was like I told him he could have two birthdays this year. And anyway, aren’t two guinea pigs better than one? I mean, what if one of them flakes on me?”

“What if _Kavinsky_ flakes on you, you mean.”

“Exactly! Then, if I let Josh go, I’ll have no guinea pigs. And then I’ll be right back where I started, minus weeks of prep time!”

“A fallback is good,” Lucas agrees mildly.

“But then…” Lara Jean bites her lip. “But then what if we go through all those tasks — even clinically and professionally — but things between us get weird? I don’t want things to change between us either. Ever since he got that web designer job and moved up here, he’s been so settled and happy and our friendship’s been better than ever. Oh god, it’s a ticking time bomb, isn’t it! I’ve just lobbed a grenade into our friendship. I’m going to have to flake on Josh…”

Lara Jean wipes her hand deftly on her 1950s-inspired scalloped apron and rounds the tiny kitchen bench to grab her phone to call just when the screen lights up. Her face changes immediately when she reads the screen and Lucas guesses, without asking, who it might be.

Through her too-bright chatter, Lucas listens as Lara Jean confirms tomorrow’s pizza night at their place. And then he watches as she locks in the coming Monday afternoon for Josh Sanderson’s inaugural pre-test test of Lara Jean’s social experiment. She was right, Lucas muses. Josh really is excited about this gig. The man seems to be bubbling over with ideas. He’s gone full nerd.

When Lara Jean hangs up, she is the very picture of a bamboozled woman. Lucas clicks his tongue sympathetically.

“Fallback Guinea Pig Josh it is.” 

Lara Jean can only nod.

~ ♡♥♡ ~

She gets given the third classroom from the staircase of Davie Hall nearest to the arboretum, the one that leads down the drive straight to the back of the library so it’s nice and close for her. Sarah Milgrim had arranged it all on the quiet; the building administrative staff aren’t always so generous with ad hoc classroom bookings, but Lara Jean had long sweetened Sarah up over the years — quite literally. That five-layer red velvet sculpted cake she’d baked for Sarah’s daughter is still quite the conversation starter, and Lara Jean is sure to pass along a pretty Kilner jar of snickerdoodles and a wink on her way up to her new test lair.

“Someone came a little earlier,” Sarah calls out as an afterthought. “A very attractive young man. And charming. I think he’s waiting for you.”

 _So Peter Kavinsky is early._ Which is slightly discombobulating, she grimaces. Lara Jean sucks in a calming breath and shakes her hair back before she pushes the door open.

“Yo…” he says softly when she enters and she smiles, turning to put her things down a professional distance away. Peter Kavinsky’s wearing nothing special — just a plain white T-shirt that matches his easy smile and stretches snug across the chest. He’s got on sky-blue skinny jeans slightly ripped in one knee, paired with white low top sneakers. But it’s the way he man-spreads and lounges, even on those stiff plastic chairs, like he’s comfortable, like he’s been coming to classes here forever. It’s _her_ test lair, yet here he is looking more at home on her turf in her block on her side of campus than she’ll ever be. Lara Jean can’t believe she’d forgotten how he just _does_ that. How he can walk in and take over the room. Any room. 

_Glittery Man-Unicorn,_ echoes Lucas in her head.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he explains, popping out his headphones. “I had time to kill after stuff, and just thought I’d hang here a bit and read.”

“No, it’s fine,” she replies quickly and tries to mean it. “I’m just gonna…”

“Set up?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She waits for him to plug his earphones back in and reopen his reading brick. And then she turns back to her bag and tries to rally.

It’s already something to note for the real thing, she tells herself. It’s good. It’s a lesson. Now she knows she needs to be way, _way_ ahead of her test subjects so she can set up the room and mentally get into the zone herself. That’s what Peter’s here for, she reminds herself. To reveal the gaps.

As quietly as she can so as not to disturb his reading, Lara Jean starts shuffling the remaining furniture against the walls until Peter jumps up to help her. Eventually, there’s nothing in the center except two chairs, seven feet apart. Wordlessly she gestures at him to sit on one of them and then patiently waits for him to settle in and unplug from his music again before she clears her throat officiously and hands him the form.

“Is this a contract?” Peter frowns slightly as he scans down the document.

“It’s a consent form,” she explains primly. “Part of the APA ethics code. It spells out what this study is about and what your rights are. Basically, it covers what we spoke of earlier. In the library.”

“ _Expected duration_ … you’ve left that blank?”

“That’s partly what we’re here for. To figure out how long things might take.”

“Uh huh.” He looks up and right at her. “When are you doing the actual fieldwork, though? You know,” he shrugs, “just so I know how long this might take.”

“Well… I need to have my thesis proposal finalized in my head by the end of next month. So yeah — just under two months, if that? I think I’ll need time in between to finesse the details and think before I come back and try out different tasks. Is that okay with you?”

“Hmm,” is all he says as he continues reading. He’s really taking this seriously, Lara Jean muses. It isn’t quite what she had expected but it’s probably a good thing, she tells herself.

“You can also decline to participate, of course…” She holds her breath, suddenly unsure what to hope for. If Peter backs out now… that might make things easier for her with Josh. 

But if he doesn’t, that might… also make things easier for her with Josh.

Lara Jean stifles a groan.

“No, I’m in,” Peter assures her, glancing up to flash her a grin. “Can’t just give up six months’ book-hogging rights. Oh wait,” he skims down. “You covered that off in number seven: _incentives for participation_.”

“I try to be thorough!” Lara Jean chirps lamely. “And look,” she adds, “if it turns out that you’re too busy later on or this isn’t your thing, you’re free to withdraw, of course. Especially since this isn’t the real experiment anyway. You’re just helping me work out the design stage so I can tighten my approach.”

“Good to know,” Peter replies, looking straight at her. Lara Jean shifts uneasily. Why is it _good to know,_ exactly? Surely he isn’t already expecting to pull the emergency safety valve? They haven’t even started yet!

“I mean,” he explains as if reading her face, “I’m not planning to drop out halfway and screw you over or anything. But… things can suddenly change sometimes. That’s just life, right? I mean, _you_ might decide I’m hopeless and need to kick me off. So it’s good you’ve got us both an exit clause here.”

“Just part of standard practice,” Lara Jean mumbles, more assuaged.

“Also says here that the purpose of your research is—”

“ _—to develop a temporary feeling of closeness, and not an actual ongoing relationship,_ ” Lara Jean finishes. Emphasis made on _temporary_. 

“Buuuut…” he frowns again, “ _the potential risks, discomfort, or adverse effects of such an experiment are…_ ” Peter trails off as he scans the rest of the statement and Lara Jean feels the heat creep up her neck. It’s what they’d already discussed in the library, she reminds herself fiercely. Even in a clinical setting, there is a small chance that actual feelings might get involved — she’s researching intimacy, after all. And professional social psychologists, she sternly tells herself now, do not blush about the very emotions they’re trying to observe. 

He’s being so quiet. Why is he being so quiet!

“Right!” Peter Kavinsky announces, as if suddenly shaking himself out of a stupor. He fishes out a pen from the front pocket of his bag and pulls the cap off with his mouth before deftly signing his name at the bottom, crossing the T in Peter with a decisive stroke of his pen. 

“That’s done,” he quips, handing her the form which she takes mutely. “Now what, Covey? I am your humble servant.”

“I don’t know about _humble…_ ” she murmurs darkly with a sardonic quirk of her mouth but he just laughs easily. He’s still annoyingly, admirably confident and boyish after all these years. Lara Jean doesn’t know anymore if that is a good or bad thing for them. For this. 

“Well...,” she starts slowly, “here’s my first quandary I’m hoping you can help with, Peter Kavinsky. It’s the order of the tasks. I’m having problems working out how to structure the experiment,” Lara Jean sighs, suddenly tired. She’d been going around and around with this in her head for weeks. 

“Go on.”

“There are three components,” she explains. “One is a series of questions that starts from small talk and eventually increases in intensity until both subjects are — what I call — engaging in self-disclosure.”

“Talking deep and meaningful,” Peter nods.

“Another component is where both subjects sit about seven feet apart—” she moves to sit in the chair opposite Peter, “and just stare into each other’s eyes. No talking. Eye contact all the way.”

“For how long?”

“What?”

“The mutual eyeballing. How long does it go on for?”

“Four minutes.”

Peter gives a low whistle. “That’s bound to get awkward.”

Lara Jean just gives a tight smile, suddenly nervous again.

“The third…”

“That’s the kissing one, right?”

“Well, yes…,” she falters, “... except what I’m curious to learn is how much of a factor natural chemistry is. While the question round can potentially foster a feeling of closeness over time, the act of coming in cold... kissing a stranger before you even have the chance to exchange two words with him, before you even know what he’s like…” Lara Jean beams now. She can’t help herself. “It could be awful and awkward. Or just _magic._ ” She sighs dreamily.

“Does your consent form, or whatever, talk about oral hygiene?” Peter asks curiously. “Like, do you vet for cold sores? STDs? And diet? No garlic or onions on the day? You gotta give people enough notice, Covey.”

Lara Jean deflates a little but it _is_ a good point. She runs over to her bag and retrieves her organizer. Peter walks over to her side now as she writes that all down. 

“Garlic and onions,” he reminds her as he reads over her shoulder. “And while you’re on a roll, make them floss.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you!” Lara Jean retorts, twisting her head around to face him. Except his breath does smell minty fresh from here. So Peter Kavinsky’s really a dental nerd. Who knew. She drops her organizer back in her bag.

“So your problem is the start,” Peter muses. “Like, do you start with the questions where you go from polite to profound? Or do you start with the kissing? If you want them to be strangers and not say anything before they kiss, then you’re kinda stuck with kissing first, aren’t you.”

He frowns. “Unless you start with the staring,” continues slowly, mulling it over. “No words, just eyeballing for four minutes and then the kiss. And then the questions? But how do you just chat about the weather after that? I mean, that kinda doesn’t work either.” Peter stares at Lara Jean. “I see what you mean.”

She shrugs helplessly. At least he gets it, and in no time flat. Maybe Peter’s right. Maybe he really is very good at intimacy. He would have to be anyway. Peter and Gen had been _sexually active_ , as her gynae father would say, since they were sixteen. Maybe even earlier. And they’d dated other people in between too. 

“Well?” Peter scratches the back of his head absently. “What did you have in mind today, exactly? Aside from your little contract. The question round?”

“Maybe?” Lara Jean hedges. “But like you said, the questions lead to increased familiarity. While the kissing is supposed to happen between strangers.”

“We’re not exactly strangers, Covey.”

“I know,” Lara Jean hesitates. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re not exactly friends either. I mean, we lost touch a long time ago, Kavinsky, and that’s pretty much the main reason I asked you to help me out with this. You’re someone I know I can hash things out with honestly, but I also hardly know you anymore.” She winces a little. “Sorry.”

Peter cocks his head to the side and stares at Lara Jean speculatively.

“No, no, I get it,” he replies finally, cutting her off when she opens her mouth to speak. “Yeah, it makes sense to me. Like, we used to hang out in McClaren’s basement but that was over a decade ago, easy. You’re right. We’re practically strangers now. Perfect strangers, in fact — for your experiment anyway.”

Lara Jean smiles a little. “Yeah. Perfect strangers. I like that.”

“Good.”

“Good.” _Good?_

“So, the kissing then?”

“Um… if that’s alright with you, I mean. That’s… that’s a more logical sequence. Like you pointed out. Earlier. Logically.” _Shut up already!_ Lara Jean begs herself silently.

Peter shrugs. “It’s all the same to me, Covey.”

In the time she blinks, Peter Kavinsky closes the distance between them, one arm slipping around her back as he pulls her to him firmly, as he lowers his head and catches her mouth with his in one fluid motion. She freezes for a full second and he seems to wait before he presses down gently, his lips surprisingly soft, his breath controlled, his other hand slipping up her neck into her hair so his palm holds her face, so his long fingers glide up behind her ear, so a shiver runs down the length of her body to her tippy toes. Lara Jean’s almond eyes flutter close. 

And then she feels it — the barest swipe of his tongue across her lips like a question for permission. Tongue! She should be scandalized. When she’d talked about kissing, she hadn’t quite counted on actual _tongue._ But blood was already coursing up her neck. He is _such_ a good kisser, a small voice in Lara Jean’s mind grumbles ruefully. A tiny sigh slips from her throat, just as the large, warm hand on her back tightens a little. And then she feels herself sway like a willow into Peter before she parts her lips. Their tongues meet for an exquisite moment and oh yes, he really does keep a minty fresh house. There’s a faint roaring in her ear. 

And then just as suddenly, she feels him pull away.

“Welp. That’s the kissing done,” Peter grins as she blinks up at him. “What’s next on the list? Is it the staring?”

“Um…” Lara Jean wills herself to stand stock still even though her legs now feel like room-temperature jelly. She presses her finger to her mouth as if to stop herself from speaking. It’s a useless gesture. Lara Jean is officially lost for words.

“Covey?”

“Mmmphf.”

“You alright?” 

“Super!” She smiles brilliantly. “Not quite what I had in mind, though. To be honest. It’s… I’ll have to refine the approach. There needs to be… more… communication. Beforehand. Perhaps. As you were!”

She turns abruptly towards her bag, hunts around it until she belatedly remembers her organizer’s already in it. Hunts around some more until she finds Kavinsky’s consent form and shoves it in her bag.

“Right!” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “That’s it for today, I think. Thanks for—” 

_His tongue!_

“—your _time_. Yes, _your time._ ” Her ears feel horribly hot. And Peter Kavinsky’s just staring at her like she’s a little bit mad. 

“You can lock up, I think. Or get Sarah to do it, will you? I have to go now,” Lara Jean insists, backing towards the door, chin held high. “I’m late… for… something.”

She does not, cannot, spare Peter a backward glance as she wills herself to walk out of the room stiffly. It’s only when she reaches the bottom of the stairs that she starts to run.


	3. Chapter 3

“You. Are. A godsend,” beams Lara Jean, grabbing the boxes from Josh without prompting. Between the ten-minute drive and the six flights of stairs to her flat, he’s pretty sure all efforts at smelling good tonight have now been completely wiped by the unmistakable _eau de pizza_ of grease and melting cheese. But their fingers brush as she relieves him of the stack and so he is happily distracted with that for a bit. Josh trails behind Lara Jean into the cosy living room, nods a hello at Lucas, and tries not to gape at her as she flies around the kitchen pulling out plates and drinking glasses for the three of them.

 _She’s so beautiful,_ he sighs. Everyone claims that Kitty has grown to become the prettiest of the three Covey girls because she looks the most like their dad. But Josh loves the way Lara Jean lights up at the door when she sees him. And how she always remembers his birthday and un-birthday (long story). And how she tries to fake enthusiasm when he brings along a cool new board game he ordered online and can’t wait to try.

Right now, they’re gathered around their round oak dining table and Lucas has opened a bottle of wine. And because it’s Lucas, he’s actually paired it with their pizzas; a Sangiovese to cut through the fat and saltiness, apparently. They’re so domestic, the pair of them in this cosy flat, that if Lucas isn’t so desperately, unhappily in love with some mysterious guy in UNC Opera, Josh would totally feel jealous. But all he feels now is a sense of belonging and contentment as he sinks back into his chair and declares he cannot possibly fit in another slice. 

“How much do we owe you for tonight?” Lara Jean asks and Josh waves her away. 

“Forget it.”

“Come on, man. You can’t keep paying…” Lucas protests and Lara Jean harrumphs a sort of disapproval that isn’t angry. But Josh is adamant. He’d never let a girl pay on a date, and this isn’t a date, but he can’t — won’t — have it any other way.

“It’s different. I’m working,” he explains for the umpteenth time, smiling up at Lara Jean.

“So?” She shakes her head. “We’ve both got jobs. It’s not like we’re broke.” 

“Just get the next one,” he replies mildly.

“You liar — you never let us!”

“Then forget it. It’s nothing. It’s pizza. I had people give me free dinners when I was a student, and now... let’s just say I’m paying it forward.”

“I have a twenty here,” announces Lara Jean, her eyes twinkling with sudden mischief.

Josh is instantly on guard, a small smile on his lips as he braces himself. “Lara Jean…” he warns.

“Josh Sanderson…” she warns back as she circles his dining chair. When she lunges suddenly, he’s already expecting it and he twists away from her before jumping up from his seat. He yanks his backpack out of her reach just before she thinks to grab it, and then she’s chasing him around the couch, giggly as she waves the folded twenty menacingly in her hand, the Sangiovese making her cheeks flush. 

_So beautiful,_ he sighs in his head. Right before she darts the other way suddenly and catches hold of one shoulder. Before he can counter her weight, they both crash onto the couch, she suddenly on top of him. A bouquet of her inimitable fragrance tickles his nose gently — coconuts and cocoa butter and spring, even though it’s summer. 

There is a dazzling moment when she just stares down at him and he forgets to draw breath. Right before she slips the twenty into his shirt pocket.

“Hah — did it!” Lara Jean crows as she rolls off him and lands on the floor before scrambling back up to do a victory lap. When Josh glances back at the dining table, he sees Lucas staring at them both, his expression inscrutable. Josh feels uneasy. Exposed.

He knows he really shouldn’t get involved in Lara Jean’s research. 

But what are his options, really? Tell Lara Jean he’s not interested anymore? Not after he’s been going on and on about how much he can help, and texting her links to testing methodologies and case studies. She’d smell something’s off immediately if he backs out suddenly. 

What if he told her he’s too busy with work, give her the brush off that way? But she’d never buy it either — not unless he gives up their weekly lunches as well. Maybe even their Friday night dinners. 

No, Josh realizes. Totally not an option. Not if he can help it. He lives for those lunches. It’s almost always the best part of his work week. 

And yet… to go along with it… A queasiness settles in his chest now at the thought. The whole point of her using him is his neutrality — _because he is safe, because he’s her friend_. Is he going to have to lie to her the whole way through, and for how long? Worst of all – wouldn’t that seriously muck up her test design in the long-run?

“Earth to Josh…” Lara Jean calls. “Are you plotting how to return my cold, hard cash? Eat,” she beckons him now, bringing out a plate of white chocolate and raspberry blondies just warmed in the microwave. It’s another of his all-time favorites and Josh stares up at Lara Jean, wondering if perhaps… if she’s trying to show him... if she feels... something...

She moves away and offers a tiny piece to Lucas, who takes it politely. Josh meanwhile bites into his slice readily and then declares he’s died and gone to heaven. Even though he’s wondering if he’s slowly angling himself towards the other destination.

He’s going to have to tell her, he concludes as he chews. Before the first session starts, he’s going to have to come clean about how he really feels about Lara Jean.

~ ♡♥♡ ~

He’ll give it five more minutes, Peter thinks. Five more minutes of waiting around pretending not to wait around before he finally gives up and asks for her.

He’s not entirely sure what the process is going to be, whether he’s supposed to mark his list of items on loan on his account and she changes his borrowing limit on the quiet, or whether he just gives her his wishlist and she makes it happen with librarian magic. He’s guessing the latter, and so here he is. Hovering around the frontdesk on the off chance he can catch a glimpse of Lara Jean.

In hindsight, maybe he should've texted ahead of time. 

“Hey,” he hears a soft voice say just behind him and he swivels on his heel smoothly to face the very person he’s been looking out for.

“Hey,” he whispers back, grinning down at her with undisguised relief. Lara Jean is wearing a short, dark peach double-breasted pinafore cinched low at her waist. Her white flowery blouse has long, puffy sleeves and she’s buttoned the collar right at the top so the soft ruffle covers half her neck, the anachronistic primness (it’s still summer outside) giving off seriously vintage librarian vibes. Even her hairband matches the pinafore. Gen would have ridiculed the shit out of this look, but Peter digs it. It really suits Lara Jean.

“You looking for me?”

“Yeah, a bit,” he admits. 

“Good timing,” she murmurs cryptically. She looks around them as if hunting for something before wordlessly tugging his elbow so he follows her, books still under his arm.

They’re both just stepping into an unused study nook by a bay of windows when his phone goes off, the dreaded ringtone cutting through the quiet so students around them turn to stare.

_Emergency. Emergency. Evacuate now. Evacuate as directed._

“Fuck,” he mutters. He doesn’t even have to look at the screen to know who the hell it is. He shuts the call down quickly but the screen almost instantly lights up again and he cusses low and fluently before shutting his phone off altogether.

Lara Jean’s gaze is naturally one of curiosity. 

“Interesting choice of music.”

He huffs, still glaring at his phone.

“Not afraid an evacuation alarm is going to incite mass panic whenever someone calls you?”

“When it comes to this particular ‘someone’,” Peter Kavinsky answers darkly, “sounding an alarm is a freakin’ public service.”

She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t ask the obvious question. Instead she wonders, “So what’s your normal ringtone?”

“Uptown Funk,” he admits, a little embarrassed.

 _“Gotta kiss myself, I’m so pretty,”_ she quotes at once, and then looks like she might laugh. 

“Hey,” he protests, scowling a little. “In fairness, that line’s about the girl and not the guy.”

“Okay, Kavinsky.”

His frown deepens even more. Somehow, he gets the feeling that Lara Jean might think he’s vain or a player or something. It’s hardly the first time he’s heard people think that about him until they bother to get to know him better. It is, unfortunately, the occupational hazard of attractive people anywhere. And usually, it wouldn’t matter to him what people think. But along with Gen's phone-stalking, it somehow rankles him right now.

They may not be friends, but they’re not strangers either, no matter what Lara Jean says. 

“Hey,” she says again but the tinge of laughter is gone. He looks back at her and then down where her hand is on his arm. “Sorry,” she offers, withdrawing her hand slowly, “that came out a little mean. I didn’t mean it that way.” A beat. “Borrowing those?” 

“Yeah.” He places his armload of books gingerly on the table beside them and fishes out the rest of his wishlist from his back pocket. “These too, if that’s alright. I can return at least half of them by next week if they turn out to be duds. Which I suspect they are.”

“Easy,” she nods and takes his list, careful now not to touch his fingers. She folds it very carefully and slips it into her pinafore pocket. “I have a favor to ask,” she adds, not quite looking at him. A small gaggle of golden-blonde lookalikes from his TV news reporting class passes by them now, a couple of them pointing him out faux-discreetly to one another. Peter gives a laidback wave to Evelyn — the only one whose name he remembers because she’d made it a point to tell him at least thrice after she’d cornered him at their first lecture. He watches as they pass him by, as they all look back at him over their bare shoulders and smile. He doffs an imaginary cap at the lot of them before turning back to find Lara Jean looking less amused.

“Sorry,” he blinks.

She opens her mouth as if to say something, and then shuts it as if she thought better of it. 

“What?”

“Unicorn,” she mutters. “Nevermind. Kavinsky, that kiss we did? I think we’ll need a retrial. It’s… The approach is all wrong.” She says this all in a rush, her lips then pressing into what he suspects is a stubborn line. “Can we — is it alright, I mean…” She takes a quick steadying breath, her gaze determined. “When are you next free? Like, for an hour, tops? We probably don’t need that long.” 

Peter Kavinsky has never quite met anyone like Lara Jean. Is he supposed to feel flattered? Chastised? Offended? It’s honestly hard to tell right now. He's had women come back for seconds, sure — but never one who'd march back after a weekend’s deliberation to demand a clinical do-over.

And what the hell did she mean by ‘ _the approach is all wrong_ ’ anyway!

“Yeah, alright.” He holds his gaze steady. Nonchalant. He tosses in a shoulder shrug for good measure and flicks on his phone, scrolling through his timetable and then his appointments. It’d serve her right if he made her wait a month between…

“I can do later this afternoon,” he replies instead. She seems to balk at that.

“I-I can’t, not today.” 

“Then when’s good for you?” he shoots back, trying not to sound indignant. 

Lara Jean thumbs through her own calendar with a frown.

“Tomorrow at four? Same place.”

“Fine by me,” he agrees coolly.

“Good.”

“Good.”

~ ♡♥♡ ~

It was better than good. Lara Jean hadn’t thought Kavinsky would’ve caved so easily, if at all. In fact, she had fully braced herself for some epic bragging that his fabulous kissing had prompted a demand for an encore. Which, of course, is totally not what this is about. 

No, not even when he’d curved his arm around her back and pulled her against him so she felt breathless. Not even when he’d held her face like that. 

“One cappuccino, two sugars please.”

So maybe he does have some bragging rights, Lara Jean concedes grudgingly. He has experience anyway, which is exactly why she’d picked him in the first place. And maybe he would have given her a hard time about asking for a retrial, except it was just good — or bad — timing that she’d caught him in a bad mood and he was so obviously distracted. 

Lara Jean can’t say that she’s ever seen Peter grouchy, not even when they were in middle school. But then having a psycho ex like Genevieve would probably turn even the best of men into a bag of lemons at the end.

Oh yes. Lara Jean isn’t in any doubt as to whom that phonecall was from. Peter's obnoxious ringtone blares in her head suddenly, and she giggles a little to herself.

“Catch you at a good time?” 

The voice is low, honey-warm and, well, _melty._ But even that doesn’t quite prepare Lara Jean for whom she sees when she turns around.

Lara Jean’s breath catches. “John Ambrose?”

John Ambrose McClaren smiles a smile that matches perfectly with the voice and Lara feels all sorts of fluttery when he does. 

He’s still dark, sleepy eyes and baby-smooth skin and looks at her like he’s really _listening_. Even after all this time. How does he _do_ that!

“Hey, Lara Jean.” He looks genuinely surprised. And genuinely, gratifyingly happy to see her. When they finally decide to hug — just quickly — he smells faintly like a scandinavian pine forest. 

“What are you doing here!” She finally demands to know, her smile so wide that her cheeks are starting to ache. 

"I like the coffee here."

“Me too,” she laughs. “Perhaps even more than Starbucks. No, I mean… weren’t you at William & Mary?”

“I was,” John Ambrose replies, seeming pleased she remembered. “But then I got into a graduate program here. Started last year.”

“Which department!”

“Pol science,” he says easily, his eyes flitting away as if it’s nothing. But Lara Jean isn’t fooled. Her jaw drops instantly.

“They’re notoriously hard to get into,” she murmurs, impressed. “Like, there’s only fifteen places or something.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugs, but he’s back to looking at her. He’s got a really good gaze, she thinks. Even. Non-threatening. Just a tad smouldery. 

“If there’s anyone I know who’d have made it to that program as an external, it’d be you, John Ambrose,” Lara Jean tells him now, not hiding her admiration. And John Ambrose looks seriously pleased, his eyes crinkling in the corners at her praise. Such gorgeous eyes, she thinks. He’ll never be accused of being a jock or a hunk in the regular sense, but John Ambrose has always been handsome in his own right — and has only gotten more so. 

The seconds tick by before they both realise they’ve been staring and they share a self-conscious chuckle before John Ambrose shakes his head, as if just remembering his manners.

“How about you, Lara Jean? You work around here...?”

She nods. “Only as a casual at the Davis library. Otherwise, you can find me in the Psych block doing my thing.”

“Wow.” John Ambrose looks intrigued. _It’s just the eyes,_ she tells herself. _Those beautiful listening eyes._ “Psych, huh! You’ve got to tell me about that sometime.”

That sounds an awful lot like an invitation for another run-in, Lara Jean thinks. A deliberate one this time. And before she can parse his words and obsess over what exactly he means by them, he cuts her misery short with another brilliant smile.

“Coffee,” John Ambrose promises, adding, “my treat, Lara Jean.” They’re walking out with their coffees now, the both of them poised to head in opposite directions.

“I can do tomorrow,” she tells him before she loses her nerve.

“Perfect.” He raises his takeaway cup to that. “I’ll come find you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Josh ends up a few minutes later than planned, having entered from the main entrance instead of up the side staircase like Lara Jean told him. He’s never been to UNC and even though he keeps telling himself that it’s just another college like his own and he still looks like a student when he wears an old Cthulhu T-shirt, a part of him — a big part of him — feels totally exposed. 

So he cheers right up as soon as he enters the classroom to find Lara Jean already there. Except she’s dressed up today in a narrow navy skirt with a white shirt buttoned high. She’s even got heels on and her hair is tied behind her in a low ponytail. 

Her lips look like she’s swiped on more than just her Merry Berry lip gloss. He looks away as if caught with a hand in her cookie jar.

“Thank you for coming in today, Mr Sanderson,” she says formally and he sees how she tries not to smile in return. This is all plain unnerving and throws him off his mission, frankly. Lara Jean is clearly serious about acting serious and he guesses that it’s equally weird for her too, which is the only reason he doesn’t open his mouth right away.

Instead, he lets her take him to the seat behind the lecturer’s desk. There’s a questionnaire that doubles as a declaration about his oral hygiene, of all things, and Josh feels suddenly scratchy under the collar when he reads the terms in her consent form. Especially the line about potential risks of actual feelings developing.

_Already there, Lara Jean._

“I need to tell you something,” he starts right when she says, “I know this feels over the top…” They both stop and then smile a little, the thin veneer of clinical distance already fractured. 

“You first,” he offers, chickening out. She pulls over the nearest chair, the metal feet scraping the carpet so it judders. Her eyes now widen in earnest.

“I just want to say… I’m so glad you’re doing this, Josh. Really.” She inches a little closer as if to press her point and he catches the faintest whiff of her special going-out perfume and promptly forgets his little speech. “I wasn’t sure at first but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. You’re _so_ good at being objective—”

“Nah…” he chuckles nervously.

“No, really! You’re… calming. And you’re knowledgeable about lots of things, especially testing. And best of all — you always try to be fair, Josh. It’s that computer head of yours and I’ve always liked that about you. As it is, I already feel quite nervous doing a study like this. And… I have to be honest…” Lara Jean looks down at her lap like she’s suddenly in a confessional. “At first, I totally regretted asking you to help out because I’m supposed to be observing people who don’t know each other at all. I mean, there’s even kissing in this. And you’re practically my brother from another mother!”

“You know, I wouldn’t quite put it like—”

“But then I realized — I’m not trying to observe and study _me_. Or even study you. I’m just rehearsing how it’d be like to conduct this experiment. And because I don’t want what I’m doing here to get out there,” she gestures vaguely at the windows, “to all my potential test subjects I need to recruit eventually, I need someone I can trust now. And I trust you, Josh.”

He swallows tightly. What the heck is he supposed to say now!

“Sorry I interrupted,” Lara Jean apologizes. “You were about to say something too?”

“Uh…” He grabs the wooden pencil on the desk for something to fiddle with while he thinks, thinks! _Man up, Sanderson,_ he berates himself. _Just tell her. Now._

“That clause — your form — the thing, the thing… about… about risks,” he fumbles out as if someone just pushed him. Josh forces himself to lean back into his chair and shoves his hands in his pocket like he’s casual. It’s hopeless. Faded T-shirt Cthulhu looks more chilled than he feels right now. 

“It’s not going to…” _Spit it out, man!_ “I mean, I’m a guy, you’re Lara Jean…” _Nooooo, that sounds worse! Abort, abort!_ “What I mean is… won’t it… it won’t be a problem, will it? I mean… I mean… b-between us. When we do… you know… the thing — _things?_ ” He corrects himself. “Your things?”

There’s an awful yawning silence when Lara Jean blinks. It’s probably only two seconds short but Josh is dying a little now.

“Lara Jean?”

“It won’t be a problem,” she assures him with a gentle smile. “Josh, you and I…” She shakes her head. She’s still smiling at him so warmly even though it cuts like a stone-cold knife. “It’s like what we’ve always said — we got over that stupid awkward hump when I had my high school crush on you and now we can just move on. I mean, you were dating my _sister_ for ages! And we even survived you reading my totally embarrassing letter! And look at us now!” She beams at him, so proud. “You’ve got absolutely _nothing_ to worry about from me. I promise I won’t get mushy on you, Josh Sanderson. Cross my heart.” She crosses it, and then lightly punches his arm as if to emphasize just how much of a bromance this is between them.

Mission failed.

“Phew,” Josh hears himself reply, his face muscles contorting unnaturally into a grin. “I’m glad it’s out there,” he adds hollowly.

“I’ll take your form, thank you.” Lara Jean stands up and smooths her skirt. It’s only when she looks back over her shoulder at him that he realizes he was supposed to follow her.

There are two chairs in the middle of the room and he waits as Lara Jean puts his consent form away before she gives him his instructions. Something about each of them re-entering from separate doors into the classroom and meeting in the center. They’re not allowed to talk to each other and all they have to do is sit on those chairs and stare at each other for four minutes.

Easy enough, thinks Josh with profound relief. No chance of any awkwardness then. Of course, the real test subjects won’t know each other and it’d be pretty unnerving to come in with no introduction, nothing. And then just to sit and stare, but whatever. It’s four minutes. And then he’s out of here.

Josh enters the room and sits. They’re just near enough so their knees almost bump if he slouches in his chair, except now he doesn’t feel like slouching. Because the moment he gazes at Lara Jean’s perfect face and looks straight into her eyes, Josh Sanderson knows he is in serious trouble.

Holy hell, is he in serious trouble.

The not-talking is bad. The not-talking means all he’s doing is speaking with his eyes, which he’s certain now are either at risk of drying out from staring so hard or worse — turning puppy-dog with want so all his stupid feelings leak out and brand him a liar. Because yes, he wants her. He’s pretty sure he’s actually in love with her. And even now, while he’s mooning over how soft her skin looks, part of his brain is still screaming over her totally innocent yet crushing rejection of him just then. 

‘Friend Zone’ isn’t even close to where she just parked him in her heart. There’s also, like, barb fencing and dogs with teeth. 

Is there even a chance at all? He stares at one of his oldest and closest friends in the entire world and yet he can’t read her at all. What is she even thinking as she’s staring back at him like this, that’s what he needs to know. Like, did she believe him earlier when he brought up the potential-risk-of-feelings clause? She’d acted as if she was the one assuring _him_ that he was safe from her. It’s like she hadn’t even factored that it could be the other way around.

OR… Josh sits up a little straighter. Was her assumption actually a tiny clue about her true hidden feelings, a small hopeful voice piped up in Josh’s ear. 

After all, she’d talked about that letter again, and that was an age ago but he still remembers how hard his heart was hammering when he first read it. How much it’d felt like he was betraying Margot — who had dumped him before Scotland, by the way, even though he was still holding out for a change of mind. But that hadn’t been the worst of it.

The worst had been that sickening sense of loss when he realized that Lara Jean had really _liked_ him. It felt like he’d bought the winning ticket to the lottery ages ago but stupidly left it on the bus by accident. 

He had never told her that. How her letter had haunted him.

Should he tell her? He was supposed to tell her. He was supposed to give her his weak-ass excuse to bail from this human experiment but ultimately… he was supposed to fess up to all of it. All of it. The wanting to be with her always, and holding her hand when they watch reruns on Friday nights.

And really _kissing_ her. And all the other things he used to do with Margot. Because _that_ wouldn’t be weird at all, Josh grimaces. A track record with two out of the three Song sisters.

Hell. How the hell can she not see how much he loves her through all this staring! And isn’t four minutes over by now? And what is she thinking right now? Is she even thinking of him at all? Are half of her thoughts about him anywhere near this tortuous? 

She’s smiling. Why is she smiling! Does she know? _Can she hear all this?!_

A quiet alarm goes off finally and Josh deflates. 

“What do you think?” Lara Jean chirps, leaning forward excitedly so their knees bump. “I thought four minutes was good. Was it too short? Or too long? And what do you think about this as the first task out of the three? Or do you think this is better as a second or third task instead? Maybe after the questions? Hey, maybe I can get both subjects to enter blindfolded until they sit. Or is that too much? Too logistically awkward?”

Numbly, Josh answers Lara Jean’s questions as truthfully and constructively as he can. But all he can really think about is how the next two tasks are going to go. Right now, his heart is still racing, although whether that’s from trepidation or expectation, God only knows. 

~ ♡♥♡ ~

She had spent the last twenty-four hours convincing herself that she’d only imagined this zing-zing between her and John Ambrose. That it hadn’t been as mutual as she’d imagined. That it’d all been a kind of wish fulfilment fueled by nostalgia and the shock of seeing him again looking just the same except even better.

Lara Jean tries not to sigh dreamily as she gazes straight ahead at John Ambrose waxing lyrical about his pol science grad program.

“I’m boring you,” he teases now, sipping his coffee which is almost finished. Hers is almost done too, but she’s making it last as long as she can. It’s come to the cold, bitter end towards the bottom of the cup but even though she feels like she could tell John Ambrose anything, she’s still not sure if this can be officially stretched into a two-coffee meet. 

“You don’t bore me,” she laughs back and wonders if that sounds flirty, or not flirty enough.

She still doesn’t know if he’s single. But he hasn’t brought anyone up and he would have said something by now if he wasn’t, surely.

“How about you?” he asks. “What led you into social psychology? Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” she admits, smiling shyly. “It wasn’t at all what I thought I’d get into, but it’s fascinating to me. Everyone keeps asking me why I don’t go into the medical field like my dad, but it’s actually my mom who led me here, sort of. She did a degree in psychology and ended up a counselor before she had all three of us and stayed home. And I guess I wandered in that direction and ended up somewhere else different again. I know it sounds like a pretty useless degree in some ways,” Lara Jean adds ruefully. “Not at all like pol science.”

“That’s not true,” John Ambrose replies firmly. “Politicians, marketers… anyone who tries to understand how to influence people throw big money at some form of social psychology. It’s a total industry. Trying to figure out what perfect storm of factors shape and influence voter behavior? That’s gold to us.” 

She likes how he already talks like he’s in politics. He’s always known his mind, even when he was little. 

“Gold, huh,” she laughs again. “Then I’m studying completely the wrong thing.”

“What’s your thesis on?” he asks curiously. 

“Human connection. Intimacy,” she replies quickly before she takes a huge gulp of her remaining cold coffee, hiding her embarrassment. John Ambrose looks suitably surprised.

“Wow!”

“Yeah…” Gah, she can’t look at him now. It sounds so airy-fairy compared to a thirty-year look at Yemeni politics and regional Arabian narratives. 

But John Ambrose will not be unimpressed. 

“No really, Lara Jean. Human connection is the stuff of things. It’s the fundamental of fundamentals. Probably the biggest galvanizer of human action. What question are you trying to answer?”

God. How can she not love a casual profundity like that! 

“I’m trying to find out if human intimacy can be consistently created through a series of activities,” she admits now. “We talk about chemistry. We talk about ‘finding Mr Right’. But I guess I want to know if finding Mr Right isn’t also about Learning Who Mr Right Is. Or something,” she ends lamely, blushing a little. It shouldn’t be this hard to explain. She has to do this in front of a panel eventually, for goodness’ sake. But John Ambrose is nodding along like he understands completely.

“Dipti and I stopped trying to learn about each other ages ago. People say it’s the distance that broke us, but I think it’s because we lost interest in keeping connected.”

_Did he say..._

“I’m sorry,” Lara Jean replies gently. John Ambrose just shakes his head.

“It was the longest break-up. We put it off for ages. But yeah, we finally ended it over a year ago.”

_A whole year!_

“My study includes a series of three tests,” Lara Jean hears herself say in a rush. “I’m actually in the midst of figuring out how it should work. Like, trialing the trial. I even have a classroom booked so I can work out how people enter and exit, and time how long things should take and all that.”

John Ambrose brightens. “Really? That’s so cool! And really fast. Attagirl, Lara Jean!” 

And then he lowers his voice, suddenly hesitant. “Need a hand?”

Lara Jean bites her lip. And then she’s nodding.

But she shouldn’t be nodding. Forget the inherent issues of recruiting Josh and then Peter for the same job. Judging by the way her tummy just fluttered, John Ambrose has Conflict of Interest written all over his gorgeous face.

Right now, in the whole Chapel Hill campus, John Ambrose McClaren is absolutely the worst man for the job.

“Absolutely,” Lara Jean agrees, shaking his hand. 

~ ♡♥♡ ~

As the magazines would say, Peter Kavinsky looks the epitome of college cool with his aviators pitched low on his nose and his fitted black V-neck tee untucked over dark blue jeans. But his knuckles are almost white as he grips the phone to his ear.

“Just until Owen can pay his way,” his father is saying now in that coaxing tone he’s always used when Peter was a kid and his father was trying to wriggle out of something.

It’s not ‘Dad’ anymore. It’s not been ‘Dad’ for a while now. Peter’s choice. 

“Just talk to your mom,” he presses his case. “She has to understand — she’s only paying for one, two kids. But I’m paying for four; I still have Everett and Clayton to think about.”

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ — let’s set one thing straight here,” Peter grits out. “You’re not paying for me. You never have.” The nerve of that asshole, trying to claim credit for _anything_. The muscle in Peter’s jaw ticks. 

“Maybe not directly,” Peter’s father answers darkly. “But don’t forget — ever since that debacle with the scholarship, it’s meant that money set aside for Owen has had to go to you—”

“And I’ll pay Mom back, every cent,” Peter growls back. “Unlike some of us, I honor my promises,” he couldn’t resist adding.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, son.” The voice down the line has turned silky. Always a bad sign. Peter grips a nearby steel railing to brace himself or stop himself from punching something. He’s not sure which. “I know you think I’m a jerk. But remember that you’re technically living under my roof, or at least that’s what it says on your college application. And yet Clarice and I haven’t seen you once since you got here. So no, you haven’t exactly honored your promises either.”

Peter slams his palm on the bannister so the dull metallic thud reverberates even over the phone.

“Fine!” he replies flatly. “I’ll check my calendar.”

“And talk to your mother,” his father reminds him. Because, _of course_ that’s the most important thing of all to him: money. And how to rob his first family to pay for his second one. Again.

Peter doesn’t promise anything when he hangs up the phone.

_Fucking fucker fuck._

He flicks a glance at the time on his phone before he heads off — first to the bathroom to cool down quite literally. Splashing cold water on his face has always helped him reset and he does so for a full minute, sweeping the droplets from his face as if wiping aside his frustrations.

Did that dickwad have to bring up that damn scholarship, he curses. But he really shouldn’t think about that right now. Right now, he owes a strange childhood non-friend a kiss that will abso-fucking-lutely be ‘the right approach’.

 _Stop it,_ he growls at himself. He’s still mad, but he shouldn’t take this out on Lara Jean. It’s bad enough that he’d been so grumpy with her at the library and it’s really not her fault that his past is still so much in his present.

“Sorry I’m late,” he calls down the corridor when he sees Lara Jean standing outside.

“You’re not late,” she replies when he’s close enough and he sees that she’s wearing a dark green dress with a white round collar that fits close to her petite frame before flaring slightly at the hip. It looks like something someone would wear in Mad Man. She’s even got white heels on to match the collar and her white hairband. It’s kinda cute, actually.

“You look good, Lara Jean.” He tries not to sound so surprised. She looks a little stunned at the compliment but is soon over that.

“Thanks for coming today. And for… indulging me,” she starts by saying, her voice low. They’re still not in the classroom yet and even though the corridor is quiet and there’s hardly any classes on down this end of the building, he feels like he should whisper.

“Why are we still out here, Covey?”

“Well… that’s what I want to talk to you about.” She gestures to a small bench off to the side upholstered in gray and he waits until she’s seated comfortably and ready to speak.

“So… the last kiss? I’ve been thinking it over…” Her voice is soft and thoughtful. “It was a nice kiss… but it wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get me wrong — you definitely know how to kiss,” Lara Jean is quick to reassure but it sounds almost like an accusation. “I’m just saying that this is about two strangers meeting each other for the very first time and kissing. And I realize that we’re not exactly strangers—”

“Or friends,” Peter adds.

“But just imagine that we are strangers and we’re not allowed to say anything and we enter the room and see each other for the first time. I expect there’s going to be a silent negotiation.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Peter scratches the back of his head, getting into the thought process here. “Like, we’ll be trying to size each other up, read each other’s signals. Like, does she want to? Maybe not?”

“Exactly,” Lara Jean beams. “I kinda expected our kiss to be more of a gentle process of… coming together.”

“I did just go straight in, didn’t I.” Peter grins a little sheepishly. “Sorry. You said ‘kiss’, and I was just trying to be a good test monkey.”

She laughs a little, her eyes closing so her lashes almost brush the tops of her cheeks. And Peter suddenly feels like he’s in a much better mood.

“So no diving straight in, pretend to be a stranger, has to be more mutual. Got it,” he lists. “So…” He jerks both thumbs towards the classroom. “Do we start now?”

“Well…” She stands up and she’s only slightly taller than him while he’s still seated. Probably a good thing she wore her heels today. “I was actually thinking we could try entering the classroom from both doors. I can take the front, you take the back, we meet in the middle. I just want a sense of what it’s like to enter the room. I’ve set up the video camera already, and I’ll need to see if I have enough space, or if it’s too invasive—”

“Whoa, you’re going to film this?” He’d forgotten about that in the contract. Somehow he’d been distracted. Probably by that potential risk of feelings clause. 

“On the actual testing days, I’ll need to review what happened just in case I miss something. Or if there’s a complaint.”

That’s a fair point. But he’s still confused. 

“So… you just want me to come in and take my mark so you can adjust the camera? Like, we’re not kissing today?” 

“Not necessarily…”

“ _Not necessari_ —What does that even mean, Covey!”

“It means that, just like in the actual task, it might be good for us to... silently negotiate?”

“Huh.” 

But he’s got to admit, he’s intrigued now. Peter stands up and it’s like a signal that shit just got real. They don’t say anything more to each other, but he takes his place just outside the backdoor of the classroom while Lara Jean takes her mark at the front. They turn and look at each other one last time and he waits until she gives him a slow nod.

Peter takes a deep breath and walks in.

Somehow, the classroom feels even bigger than the first time with most of the furniture out of the room today. He spots the camera on the tripod from the corner of his eye but that’s not what consumes him right now.

He can’t believe it. His heart is actually pounding. Not knowing if this kiss is a sure thing has actually upped the stakes considerably. Clever Covey.

Peter meets her at the center of the room, both of them slowing right down until they’re facing each other. She’s so prim, so put together. He’s half waiting for her to break character suddenly and announce she has to go fix the camera. Or that time is up.

The silence between them, the not knowing, is killing him just a little. 

Does he want to kiss her? Does _she_ want to be kissed? Should he even try? She’s as good as admitted that it’s not strictly necessary today. Or maybe she’s just fucking around with him and conducting a weird side experiment right now, who knows. Maybe she’s silently studying him right now, watching how he’ll negotiate this one.

And yet…

He smiles at her, his mouth crooking up at the side so it looks almost like a smirk but hides his uncertainty and confusion. Lara Jean smiles back at him, her face lighting up a little. They both inch a little closer. And then closer still. So close that now she’s tilting up to look into his face. She laughs a little now, just quietly, but the sound is unexpected. Delightful. So much so, he finds himself chuckling quietly in return. And it’s _such_ a release, that little huff. He hadn’t realised how screamingly quiet everything had gotten. How tense he’s actually feeling. 

She’s just as nervous, he realizes. But she’s still here, isn’t she. 

And she’s got pretty eyes. 

He waits for what seems like forever until she finally moves, her hands, her fingers sliding up both his arms lightly. Tentatively. But that is all the nudging he needs. His hands find her waist just as her arms wind around his neck and the last thing he sees are her eyelids as they flutter close in expectation.

He closes his eyes and dips his face slowly, so slowly until he feels the barest touch of her lips. It’s almost shocking, this tenderness, where he feels like he’s just hovering over her, reining himself in, tacitly seeking and giving permission. And even though there’s still a gap between them both, him literally keeping her at forearm’s length, the softness of this moment seems to melt away that distance between them.

He presses his lips to hers and finds them soft and pliant this time. Waiting.

Lara Jean never did specify the type of kissing, did she.

Peter deepens the kiss, parting his mouth slightly as he feels her mirror him, his tongue still cautiously polite as it meets her own. She tastes like spearmint, just as he surely does. So she had wanted to kiss him after all.

Just knowing that is encouragement like no other. 

Peter kisses her properly now, truly tasting her, his arms winding around her tiny waist and wrapping her back as he holds her against him, almost lifting her off her feet. And then he feels her start to match him, her own tongue playing with his own, one hand slipping into the short stubble of his hair and holding him fast to her. And damn if that isn’t a little hot.

It’s only when he hears her gasp that he realizes she probably needs air. And that maybe he might be crushing her. Just a little.

They pull apart finally, both of them looking straightaway around the room — anywhere except each other — as they gather their thoughts and their breaths and regroup.

“Something like that?” he finally says, rubbing his head. He can’t help it. He’s grinning now. That was seriously not a bad kiss. Not bad at all. 

Lara Jean gives a wobbly nod, which looks neither here nor there. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe not quite that,” she admits, looking skeptically at him. The only telltale sign of her fluster is the high color on her cheeks. Otherwise, she sounds businesslike again.

“Do you really think people will kiss… like… _that?_ ”

“Like what?” He grins harder. He’s just fishing now.

“You know like what.”

“Hell yeah,” he shrugs, pulling over a chair to sit. “If you’re putting out a call for college students to kissy-face, you’ll totally get all sorts coming in to make out.”

“Oh god,” Lara Jean groans, sinking into another free chair. “How did I not see this!”

“If you don’t want a make-out sesh, put it in your contract,” he points out the obvious. “But I’m telling you, if you really want to see how total strangers come together to kiss, you’ve got to be prepared for _that._ ” He points vaguely to where they’d just been making out. “Maybe include a clause about no groping,” he adds in hindsight. “Not everyone’s a gentleman. Or a lady. And you should totally get your participants to fill in a questionnaire straight after.”

“I intend to. But thanks for reminding me.” Lara Jean walks over to her bag now and rummages around before she finds what she needs. “Here’s a draft,” she says, handing it to him.

Peter scans it quickly and then makes a face. “Come on Lara Jean — not one actual question about the kiss?”

“What are you talking about! That whole questionnaire is about how intimate they found the experience _of kissing._ ”

“Yeah, but did you actually get them to rate the kiss?”

Lara Jean rolls her eyes as he uncaps a pen and starts drawing a sliding scale.

“Stop defacing my questionnaire.”

“Here you go. ‘How do you rate your kiss?’ Scale goes from zero to ten. Or you can use a seven-point Likert scale. Either works. That will cover off most kisses.”

Lara Jean scowls at his chicken scratchings. “Did you just rate that kiss an eleven, Kavinsky?!”

Peter just grins lazily.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual wait. Here's a longer than usual chapter. :-)

It’s hard not to miss the spectacle when Josh Sanderson finally sees it. But the very nanosecond he does, his feet grind to an absolute halt while his heart Cirque du Soleils somersaults within his ribcage.

 _This is so frakking confusing,_ groans Josh Sanderson to himself even as he feels his face split into the widest grin.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Lara Jean calls out with a triumphant smile as he jogs over. Their usual picnic table is now festooned with helium balloons. God knows how many party stores she’d raided in the process, but almost all his favorite franchises — save the truly obscure ones — seem to have made it to their table today — from Marvel to Battlestar Galactica to Transformers to Witcher to even Firefly. 

Josh is seriously impressed. And he could kiss her, but then he’d have to explain himself if he finds he cannot stop. So he just grins, his heart bursting and confused. 

“You like it?”

“Holy Graf Zeppelin!”

“I had a little help from the library bunnies. And a couple balloons popped on the way over in the car because of space issues and hot-car-in-summer issues. And so in the second store, I ended up buying a small helium tank—”

“What! No way!”

“And it worked out that it was cheaper in the long run, so then I could get even _more_ balloons — which explains the Comic Con variety here. And so now I’m an expert at blowing up helium balloons _from an actual tank._ Do you know what this means?” She peers up at him, her eyes laughing. “If my research sucks, I can moonlight at children's parties now. Or we can just suck on the tank and sing like chipmunks. You choose, birthday boy.”

Lara Jean makes a huge _ta-da_ gesture at the small helium tank behind her and he can’t stop himself now. He reaches over and catches her left hand, pulling her to him so she half spins into his arms. And he doesn’t know how she does it. How even when she’s caught off-guard like that and flailing, that she can flail so adorably.

There is a heart-stopping moment when her face almost collides into his own, when he realizes that maybe, _maybe_ he could kiss her after all. That he should. That this would be yet another perfect moment in a long series of potential perfect moments he’d flubbed.

But then she turns her face into his shoulder. One quick squeeze around his waist and the hug is over. She pulls back to look at him properly, her face still beaming like a small sun.

“I made red velvet cake with white chocolate cream cheese and cannoli filling with cookies and cream!” she announces in a rush like she’s busting to tell him. Josh gapes like a carnival clown at the spread of food on the modest picnic table, blood rushing in both directions as it finally hits him just how much effort this had taken. And how public this setting is. They’re smack bang in the middle of her campus, for smeg’s sake. To anyone noticing at them from the outside, it could totally look like a girlfriend springing a romantic surprise on her guy.

It’s precisely in moments like these when Josh wonders if he’s read her wrong after all. Because a _friend_ wouldn’t go through this much trouble, surely. A _friend_ wouldn’t throw a mid-week picnic just for two, even if it is his actual birthday today. Surely. 

“I’m driving back to Virginia next month,” he hears himself say, the idea clicking into place as he speaks, the words sounding strange and faraway like someone else just spoke them. “Labor Day's on the first Monday next month, and I’m planning to take the Friday off and make it a long weekend. You wanna come? I could drive us.”

“You mean it?” Lara Jean’s eyes turn shiny with excitement. “That’s less than three weeks away. That would be perfect! It’ll just be when I start feeling seriously homesick too, I know it.”

“I figure,” he smiles and then ducks his head away just in case he ends up staring. “I’ve always wanted to return for a visit. See what my old house looks like. See how your neighbors are treating it, too.”

“Oh gosh, yes! Of course, you don’t live there anymore. Come stay with us instead!”

“You sure?”

“Are you kidding? If you end up in a motel or something, Kitty will never let me hear the end of it. My _father_ will never let me hear the end of it. _Of course_ you’re staying with us! That is… if you want to,” she adds hesitantly.

Just the prospect of lying in bed at night and sharing a thin wall with Lara Jean is enough to drain the blood from Josh’s head and pool it somewhere south-like.

“Well in that case, I really shouldn't refuse your offer,” Josh volunteers valiantly. “Can’t risk incurring the wrath of Kitty and Daniel, can I.”

“And Margot’s,” Lara Jean adds. “Don’t forget Margot.” That reminder manages to sober Josh right up. 

It's frankly alarming how easily he forgets Margot when he's with Lara Jean. Almost like their two years together had been a lifetime ago, in another place, at another house. In another bed. 

And maybe it’s how both sisters are so different that he’s sometimes caught by surprise. While Lara Jean baulks at even pushing her hospitality too hard, Margot’s always firm about how the world should spin according to Margot.

Because Margot decides for everyone. She’d even decided for him. Until Lara Jean, Josh Sanderson never had to work out how to chase a girl. Especially one whose romantic radar is as wonky as Lara Jean’s. 

He’ll tell her then, he decides. Two and a half weeks of this platonic purgatory and then he’ll finally come clean. Maybe he’ll tell her on the drive down. Maybe he’ll fess up in the Corner Café. Maybe they’ll take a long walk back to Adler High together and he’ll finally summon the testicular fortitude to hold her hand on the way there. 

He imagines her gripping it back, lacing her fingers with his. Lara Jean, she’d be subtle and sweet like that.

“First Friday, September?” he confirms.

“It’s a date!” she beams, blithely ignorant of how his heart instantly lurches at her choice of words. Josh grins back anyway. With her weird intimacy testing behind them by then and maybe some luck, those magical words just might come true. 

~ ♡♥♡ ~

Twice in one week. 

Peter can’t remember the last time he hung out with the same girl twice in the same week. Three times, if he counts the Monday he popped into the library to make good on his new dope borrowing privileges.

And it’s _not_ because he’s a player, Peter’s quick to qualify. Even in the years he and Gen went long-distance, (and yeah, Virginia Tech qualifies for long distance when he still had to drive over two hours each way to get to her because god forbid _she_ drove to _him_ sometimes,) he had been super careful around friends of the woman variety, always sure to keep his feet way off the grass. Just in case any friendly banter or photo got back to Gen so she could yell at him about playing the field. 

(And always, _always_ that persistent little fear — the one where he finds the grass on the other side softer and greener after all. Softer, greener, healthier, and totally uninterested in mind games. And then he’d be fucked, is what.) 

Of course... he isn’t with Gen anymore, is he. And with lacrosse likewise gone now, his calendar is wide, wide open. But playing love-test monkey doesn’t qualify as a real hang out. Nor does kissing — twice! — for scientific experimentation. 

And about that… Who knew Lara Jean had it in her all along? Certainly not Peter. Even when he thought he knew better the second time around, she’d still surprised him. It was all still quite PG-13, and yet it’d caught his attention enough to snap him right out of his shitty mood and give him something else to think about. 

His phone flashes again and he squints against the mid-morning sun at the message on screen before his frown deepens. Owen. Peter’s heart sinks. _I haven’t warned mom about dad yet,_ he winces inwardly. But then he flicks through the stack of messages coming in fast and furious now and his guilt morphs into irritation instantly.

Perfect timing as always, Peter grimaces. Seven minutes to meeting Lara Jean and Gen drops yet another drama bomb. This time she’d actually staked out his house, scared the shit out of Owen, tried — and failed — to break into his old bedroom, and pestered his mom for details on where she might find him. The actual sequence of events remains unclear and frankly, Peter doesn’t want to know because fuck it.

Fuck it! Fuck her. Peter actually powers off his phone with some relish. He’ll call his mom later, get the full story, apologize like hell for Gen pulling a nutty, and then apologize some more for dad’s shitty manoeuvre about Owen’s tuition. But for now, he owes Lara Jean his time and his talent. He’d signed a contract, after all. 

And he could certainly do with the distraction.

~ ♡♥♡ ~

Peter Kavinsky enters the classroom looking far too serious and even a little unhappy. But the moment he drops heavily into the chair opposite her, locks eyes, and then flashes her a megawatt grin, Lara Jean breathes easy. She even smiles back.

“No smooching today?” He guesses, tipping his chin at the desk between them where two takeaway coffees sit. Lara Jean flushes slightly.

“No… we’re done with that, I think. I got what I needed.” She hears what she just said and flushes even more. Peter Kavinsky raises an eyebrow and his mouth tilts up in one corner with amusement. But he thankfully lets that slide.

“So what’s up, Miss Social Scientist,” he asks, picking up his cup. “Mmm,” he murmurs appreciatively as he swallows. “You have no idea how much I needed this.” He starts to pull out his wallet but Lara Jean won’t have it. Peter’s been such a sport about the two rounds of kissing and he’s been a surprising gentleman about it all. He’s even been genuinely helpful. Lara Jean shakes her head.

“Get the next one,” she quips when Peter insists and that finally assuages him.

“Alright,” he acquiesces. “I’ll hold you to that,” he warns, twisting in his seat to return his wallet to his back pocket. Something inside Lara Jean leaps at the promise but she squashes it all instantly with pragmatism.

“Today’s session is easier,” she assures him, sliding across her sheet of questions. “We’re just going to talk.”

She reminds herself to breathe as she watches Peter scan her questions, his eyes flicking through the list as he sips loudly. They’re nothing too deep and meaningful yet — just fun and simple get-to-know-you starters that wouldn’t go astray in a speed dating party. Not that Lara Jean has ever tried that sort of thing.

Peter’s silence is unnerving.

“I know it’s a lot of questions,” she offers. “I was thinking of maybe giving both parties the questions list and then they can decide which ones to ask when they start to run out of steam.”

He’s still staring at that list, his eyebrows furrowing a little.

“And um… maybe a time limit? Like, they’re a lot of questions, so maybe an hour ought to be enough. Or would imposing a time limit spoil everything?”

Nothing. Lara Jean shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Okay—” she concedes aloud. “Alright, so maybe some of these questions might be a bit lame. Or just trying too hard. Like that question about who you’d pick as your dinner guest if you could ask anyone in the whole world? I’ve always avoided questions like that so I don’t know why I added the dinner guest one. In church camp years ago, every time we had an icebreaker question about which famous person we’d love to meet, we all had to say Jesus. So yeah, totally get it. I can change that one. And any other question. I’m not wedded to any of them really. Peter?”

“No, they’re good!” He looks up at her surprised. “No, don’t change them, Lara Jean — I’m just trying to work out what to say. Some of these are hard! But I like them.” She feels herself relax instantly, relieved. 

Peter places his slip of questions back on the desk and pushes it away from him. “But you’re right. Maybe it shouldn’t be this hard. Maybe turn them into cards or something and have a conversation deck in the middle. And then let your people just… talk. It’ll come, Covey. Don’t worry about it.” He smiles at her encouragingly. “Should we start?”

“Sure.” Lara Jean smiles but she’s suddenly nervous. It’s weird, she thinks. Peter’s such a part of her childhood, sometimes even a prominent feature whether he knew it or not. He was her first kiss, after all. And even in high school he was always there in the background, the one everyone inevitably crushed on at some point, the one attached to Gen at the hip, the one people gravitated to and social media orbited around. And even though Lara Jean suspects that Peter knows next to nothing about her now, it’s like _she_ knows lots about _him_ already. And yet here they are, two test kisses in, finally having a conversation after all these years. 

Lara Jean knows exactly which question to pick first.

“Peter Kavinsky,” she begins, a wry smile tugging at her mouth with the formality, “would you like to be famous? And in what way?”

“No,” he answers instantly. “I’d hate to be seriously famous.”

She stares at him. “Really?” 

“Really.” He dips his head and looks up at her meaningfully. “I’ve had a taste of it, as you know. It’s totally overrated. And when your life turns shit, as it sometimes will because that’s life, that’s when being well known gets very old. I’ve never enjoyed it.”

“You could’ve fooled me…” Lara Jean mumbles but Peter shakes his head. 

“I like knowing lots of people and people wanting to hang out with me. That part is sweet. But then they expect things from you. Or expect you to be something else and then when you’re just being you and doing your thing, they get mad sometimes. Like, seriously offended even. That part stinks. All the time.”

“You wear your fame well, though.” Lara Jean shakes her head in amazement. “From where I sat in the cafeteria, it always looked so easy for you. Almost like you hardly noticed how people liked you. Even when you literally had a posse of juniors following you around school, somehow you always still seemed to be… well… _you_. I’d never have guessed in a million years that you were uncomfortable being the center of attention.”

“Aw Covey, now you just make me sound like a jackass!” But he sounds playful now and not at all offended. He stretches out in his chair.

“What about you, Lara Jean.”

“What about me?”

“Fame. Living forever.”

She thinks about it seriously and he waits. “I think I could handle it,” she allows. “But it would have to be for something worthwhile. I’d hate to be famous for being lucky but talentless or — worse — for something stupid I did. I don’t want to be famous for fame’s sake either.”

“Of course,” Peter nods along. “You’re no Kardashian.” 

“I’m just saying, if I have to sacrifice my privacy and be on display constantly, I’d want the trade off to be worth it. Like solving a problem for humanity, that sort of thing.” She flushes now, suddenly aware of how corny it all sounds. But if it really is corny, Peter doesn’t mock her. Not even a little.

“I can totally see that,” he says instead. “You’ll be the quiet kickass one that ends up saving the world. And then avoiding the world press like it's the plague.”

She snorts a little at that, but only a little. It’s hard not to be flattered, especially when Peter seems dead serious. _Kickass, he’d said._

“Alright my turn, Covey,” he decides now, pulling the list to him so he can choose. “When did you last sing to someone?”

“What?” Lara Jean gapes. “You choose _that?_ ”

“Them’s the questions,” he grins, leaning back again to survey her.

“Oh I don’t sing,” she replies firmly, shaking her head, slightly horrified. _Please don’t make me sing!_

“Not even to yourself?” Peter looks skeptical.

“I hear music in my head, sure. And singing. _By other people,_ ” she emphasizes.

Peter shrugs. “I sing all the time.”

“That’s ‘cos you croon like Elvis,” Lara Jean mutters darkly.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“You weren’t meant to,” Lara Jean explains, flushing again. But in the interest of honesty and her humble contribution to the social sciences, she relents. 

“You have a really nice singing voice.”

“Oh really?” He leans in, interested. “When did you hear me sing?”

“Eighth grade, when you were still in Chorus and played The Phantom of the Opera.”

“Oh, that!” He laughs as he suddenly remembers. He looks surprised. “Oh god, that was... That's never going to make my LinkedIn profile. Can’t believe you saw that.” 

“We all saw it,” Lara Jean rolls her eyes to hide her embarrassment. “Are you kidding? Next to the school dance, that was the event of the year. And the night I went, that theatre was booked solid with three-quarters screaming and female. But the girls were all kinda bummed that you were in a mask for most of it. And then the big reveal when you turned out to be ugly.”

Peter Kavinsky barks a short, sharp laugh. “Artistic heathens,” he scoffs.

Lara Jean shrugs. “Your makeup was comically horrible. I think I actually laughed. But yes, you sounded great anyway.”

“Why, thank you.” And Peter manages to look pleased and almost bashful. “Fun fact,” he adds as an afterthought, “everyone expected me to be the Vicomte — you know, the one that saves Christine and marries her. But I only went for The Phantom.”

“Because it’s the lead?”

“Because I wasn’t a shoo-in just because of my looks.”

It’s not at all what Lara Jean had expected and she stares at him now, unsure of what to say to that. It’s one thing to know you’re handsome, quite another to be self-aware. And while Lara Jean has always suspected that Peter knows how much of a magnet he is, she didn’t think he understood it this well.

“Um…” She grabs the question list instead and does a quick scan. “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

“What!” Peter runs his fingers through his hair. “That’s a seriously intense question. Just one?”

“Just one.”

“Huh.” He looks around the room, perhaps searching for inspiration. “I feel like I should come up with something awesome but trite like ‘flying’ or ‘mindreading’.”

“Mindreading could be fascinating,” Lara Jean reflects.

“Maybe.” He looks back at her with an odd look on his face, like he’s trying to figure her out. “I actually think it could be terrifying. Being able to read everybody’s thoughts about everything and everyone — including about yourself...”

 _Fair point,_ concedes Lara Jean, cringing visibly as a quick showreel of her own thoughts about Peter flashes past. 

“How about flying, then?”

“Meh,” he replies, pulling a face. “Convenient, but far-fetched. And tiring. And potentially dangerous. Eagles, planes and shit.”

Lara Jean nods. “When I added this question, I actually understood it differently. I wasn’t thinking about a supernatural ability like flying or mindreading… for me, it was more about what I’m currently lacking. Like decisiveness. Or delayed gratification”

“That’s profound, Covey. You’re putting me to shame.”

“Not at all,” she laughs. “You just showed me how this question can be construed differently. So thank you. Again.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Lara Jean.”

It’s at the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’s glad he’s here but she holds back just in time. Because to say it… that feels like a mistake. Or something that could build into a Moment. She’d tell him that she’s glad he’s here and then he might say he’s glad he’s here too, and then what? They kiss? Like some corny romance movie?

_Would that be so bad?_

And yet it feels like there’s a Moment brewing, just under the surface. Lara Jean has to surmise that it’s just proof of how effective the question round is for inducing a temporary sense of closeness. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if the question round produces the highest rating for intimacy out of the three tasks. She even wonders if this round is heightened by the kissing beforehand, or if it is compelling enough to stand alone on its own. Interesting.

“Earth to Lara Jean…” Peter nudges her foot under the desk and she snaps out of her thoughts instantly.

“What were you saying?”

“Not much,” Peter admits. “I’m still thinking about the one personal quality I could get for free. How about you? Do you have one?”

“Courage,” she answers instantly. “Courage to get back on the horse. Or rather, behind the wheel.”

Peter looks surprised. “Don’t you know how to drive? I swear I’ve seen you driving your dad’s Subaru Ascent in high school.”

“I do — or rather I did.” She starts fidgeting in her seat, regretting her word choices. Why oh why did she tell him!

He waits quietly for what seems like ages, neither pushing her nor even judging her. On the surface he looks like he always does — laid back, untroubled. But he’s definitely waiting. Somehow Peter senses there’s a story to tell and that it’s already hard enough for her to spit it out without him firing questions or bad guesses. If there’s a quality that Peter Kavinsky already has in spades, Lara Jean is surprised to learn it’s sensitivity. 

And then it all comes out. How she’s always been a nervous driver all through high school. How she drives out of necessity because who doesn’t? But then one weekend in her second year at UNC, she’d driven alone back to Virginia during the spring break when she’d fallen asleep at the wheel. She’d hit a tree. And she had survived when neither the car nor tree did. She hasn’t driven anything since.

“So what, you bus it home now?” His tone isn’t accusing or even pitying. Peter’s genuinely asking because he’s trying to figure it out.

“I’ve only bussed home once,” Lara Jean replies. “But most times, I have a friend who takes me.” She doesn’t say who it is, even though she’s fairly sure Peter knows Josh from when they were all at Adler High. 

She waits for the other usual platitudes. And advice. Usually everyone’s quick to point out how the best fix for driving after trauma is to get back behind the wheel ASAP. Well, she’s clearly missed the boat for _that_.

But Peter doesn’t say anything like that at all, except to thank her for telling him. Which would usually be a strange thing to say, but right now it’s perfect and sufficient.

“I dunno, Covey,” Peter shakes his head sorrowfully now, looking over her question list. “I see what you’re doing here but it’s pretty intense. Couldn’t you have just sprinkled in some normal first-date questions about movie preferences at least?” His dark eyes twinkle, teasing.

“Alright, Kavinsky.” Lara Jean sighs dramatically. “Favorite movie.”

“Easy. Fight Club.”

“Is that an actual title of a movie?”

“Get out!” Peter almost yells in horror. But then he leans right in with a confidential wink. “You see how much easier that was?”

~ ♡♥♡ ~

They don’t get to finish that questions list, but it doesn’t matter because it’s working anyway. By the time they leave the classroom, Peter Kavinsky’s forgotten about his father, about Owen’s texts, about Gen climbing into his bedroom and god only knows what else. All he can think about is how entertaining Lara Jean can be, even when she doesn’t mean to be. 

In all these years with Gen and all the other chicks between, Peter Kavinsky has never met a girl so single-minded about her work that she could kiss him twice like that and still come out the other end perfectly unaffected. He can’t make her out. 

It’s pretty refreshing, actually.

He doesn’t bring up her thing about driving again, not in so many words. But he casually offers to drive her home and lies about it being on the way for him. Peter’s pleased when she accepts without fuss and he’s just regaling her with the latest Trevor Pike burnt dinner travesty — a melted plastic chopping board in the oven — when they reach her lobby.

“This is me,” she smiles, lowering her eyes a little self-consciously perhaps. “Thanks for coming today.”

“I had fun,” he replies and means it. “Seriously — that question list should be mandatory for all new relationships, romantic or not.”

She laughs, not believing him for a second.

“At the very least, we’ve established all the catching up you need to do on movie classics.”

“Speak for yourself, Kavinsky,” Lara Jean retorts. “Not a single one of yours is based on a book written before the twentieth century.” She tuts at him like he’s an uncultured tragic.

“So it’s settled, then.” He flashes a grin. “We should check out each other’s movies sometime.”

Peter can tell, just from Lara Jean’s hesitation, that she’s read him loud and clear. There’s a pause as they try and spar with each other wordlessly, Peter daring her with his eyes to flout her weird test-research rules. They’re all over the place as it is — he’s a non-stranger non-friend newly reinstated to almost-friend, thanks to this afternoon. They’ve kissed (professionally) twice — with some pretty spritely tongue action, he might add — and they’ve bared their souls just a smidgen.

It’s pretty fair to say that whatever professional working relationship they’re supposed to have is already compromised. 

“Someday,” she smiles instead and he touches his forehead as a salute, turning away as soon as she enters the elevator. Peter strolls out into the sun and then flicks his phone on.

He gives her about ten more seconds before he sends his message. 

12:57pm  
PETER KAVINSKY  
How about tomorrow night. :-)

12:59pm  
COVEY  
Come at 7. Bring popcorn.

~ ♡♥♡ ~

They don’t usually lunch on Fridays. But after his midweek birthday surprise, Josh feels like he’s just coming out of his skin with restlessness. 

He can’t wait till September. He just has to know.

It’s not entirely a conscious effort and it’s a good twenty-minute walk, but eventually Josh finds himself jogging past the Davis Library. Lara Jean isn’t working today, he remembers belatedly. She’s probably in the Psych block, so he’ll head out there.

He doesn’t see them straight away, probably because he doesn’t expect to. But when he does, it’s unmistakable and something sour and acidic seems to burst in his throat and coat it. The burn runs all the way down to his gut and churns there. Josh stops and squints into the sunlight as Peter Kavinsky unlocks his black two-door Audi remotely and opens the passenger door for Lara Jean.

When Peter’s fingers graze her waist, Josh turns and starts to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about [Holy Graf Zeppelin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%22Holy...%22).


End file.
